


The Man Who was Never King

by arpita



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Most of the characters are mentioned, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-19 14:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19358857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arpita/pseuds/arpita
Summary: Bijjala, being well,Bijjaladoesn't come to terms with Bhallaladeva's death, and Mahendra Baahubali's presence in the Palace of Maahishmati.





	The Man Who was Never King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MayavanavihariniHarini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayavanavihariniHarini/gifts), [Inkn1ght1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkn1ght1/gifts), [Medhasree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medhasree/gifts), [Ratna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratna/gifts).



To say that Bijjaladeva hated his new environs was a gross understatement. He didn’t just hate it-

_**He loathed it with a passion perchance unknown to mankind.** _

He glanced at Devasena, the new Queen Mother with venom in his eyes. The sight of Kattappa burnt a hole through his insides. Avanthika, that brat they now called their Queen, seemed to be unworthy of her position as he looked at her taking the regal mantle to the best of her abilities. And most of all-

Amarendra’s filth- _as he called him_ \- Mahendra had taken the throne, just as Vikramdeva had taken the throne from him, just as his father had taken the throne from Bhalla, in spirit. 

_**And all of them look just like HIM!,**_ Bijjala spat mentally. 

**“I’m living in a house teeming with usurpers!”** He often boomed in front of his son’s portrait. 

_Ah Bhalla!,_ his insides twitched painfully everytime he cast a glance at that life-size portrait of him. Tall, and dark, with a well-defined chest that would put Kartikeya to shame. Dark, piercing eyes, with a glint that fostered Agnishwara himself, even as they warmed up in love or scorched in hatred. 

Bhallaladeva, he had named him, the strongest of all Gods. The mark he wore on his forehead, that of the Suryanarayana in his wake, was so characteristic of him. Strong, and bright, just like his impeccably handsome boy. 

At times, Bijjala wept uncontrollably in front of Bhalla's likeness. His screams rent his ears as a spear rent a man's heart. At times, the sight of Agnishwara consuming Bhallaladeva on the pyre that Devasena had meant for him materialised in front of his eyes.

These nightmares tore his heart asunder. Now that Bhalla and Bhadra, his grandson were both dead, nothing mattered much to him anymore. He felt their exile would have been far more preferable to him then their death. At least, he would have known that they were breathing, that they would come back to him someday or the other. Or he might have been exiled and joined them in turn. 

 

_But these were just possibilities, phantom possibilities of what could have been._

 

_The **reality,** was their death._

In times when Maahishmati was flourishing in the wake of wealth, peace, and prosperity, under Mahendra Baahubali's reign, all Bijjaladeva could wish for was death.

And one day, he hoped his intoxication would pave the way.


End file.
